


Bring Me To Life

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conspiracy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Mentions of Suicide Attempt, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21957871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: Dominic works at a mental health clinic, where he meets Sascha. Since day one, he's got the feeling that Sascha is not as mad as everyone thinks he is, but when he starts to uncover the whole case, it gets more dangerous than he expected...
Relationships: Dominic Thiem/Alexander Zverev
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	Bring Me To Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [furiousflamewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiousflamewolf/gifts).



> So, as @furiousflamewolf said, my definition of a mini-fic = over 8K words. This was inspired by the song Bring Me To Life by Evanescence.
> 
> My apologies to all fans of Fognini and Djokovic, because they are evil here.
> 
> I'm not claiming to know how mental institutions function, I'm taking a great creative liberty here.

Dominic is sitting in the glass booth, watching over the patients in the common room. Out of all the duties, this one he hates the most. More than the night shifts and changing dirty sheets. Because this is where it all really sinks in, where he can see everything as it really is - dull and desperate. It’s like watching TV while being drunk, with no interesting program on.

He knows it’s just a question of time until the elderly lady purposely spills tea all over the table and he will have to go and clean it up, which seems to be the lady’s favorite thing to watch. Or until the young girl who looks like she straight up crawled out of a horror movie starts throwing things at something invisible in the corner of the room.

But for now, he has his usual moment to think about the little mystery that might not be a mystery at all, or it can just be a mystery in his head. Which means that he really shouldn’t tell anyone about it, unless he wants to end up on the other side of the glass.

He’s been working here for exactly thirty days. And for twenty-nine of them, he can’t get this thing out of his head.

Not thing. A person.

He takes great care to remember all of the patients’ names, but he knows little more than that. He knows their medication and general diagnoses, and when he needs to take them to appointments and procedures. Usually, their stories don’t get to him. But this one, Alexander, he just can’t get out of his mind since he saw him for the first time.

Something was different about him, and Dominic couldn’t quite pick up on it, but he sensed it. At first it was just a gut feeling, just some weird vibe. But the more he watched him, the more clear it was becoming. His eyes were different - _are_ different. Dead, yes, and empty, glossed over by the medication that Dominic feels would calm down the Devil himself, but not mad.

Even now that Dominic looks at him, there is something not quite right. If he omits the white T-shirt that is too big for him now, although it probably fitted him just fine once, and the too-long hair that is tangled from all the messing with it that he does in his restless moments, there is a surprising air of sanity about him. Covered with a thick veil of sedatives, of course, but it’s not that hard to see sanity where it is a rare sight. And Dominic would swear that when the boy spends the hours looking out of the window, unlike the others, he actually sees something out there.

He asked the senior doctor about the boy on day fifteen. Dr. Djoković gave him a quick run down, after all, Dr. Djoković never took his time with anything. He told him the boy was involved in a car accident which killed his parents and brother. He got out with only a few scratches and bruises, a miracle, the rescuers called it. Only that a few weeks later, one of his relatives found him unconscious in the bathroom of his house, with cuts on his wrists. He was admitted in here after they put him together in hospital, as he kept repeating nonsense about people wanting to kill him, and about his family’s death being a murder, while everyone knew it was an accident. It was a case like so many others, Dr. Djoković said, not worth wasting Dominic’s time.

“I just thought that it was strange… you survive a car accident by some miracle, and try to kill yourself a few weeks later?” Dominic said then.

Djoković shrugged. “Survivor’s guilt,” he said. “PTSD, depression, paranoia… Who knows what happened there.”

“Perhaps he does,” Dominic mumbled.

“If he does, he will not tell you. He hardly knows what his name is,” Djoković said.

“No wonder, with all that medication,” Dominic noted, and immediately regretted saying it out loud. Because it was obviously Djoković who prescribed it, and now it sounded like Dominic was questioning his decisions… which he was, but definitely shouldn’t be. Not as a nurse who’s just been there for about two weeks, and was lucky to be hired after leaving his previous job not on very good terms with the head of the department.

“Well, the last time he was off medication, he attacked his uncle during a visit, so…” Djoković says. “It’s better like this. He’s at least not dangerous to others, and himself.”

That is another thing that doesn’t add up. The staff treating the boy like a bomb that might explode at any given moment, but Dominic just cannot see it in him. True, there is the medication now, and all the interaction he has had with the boy has been quite minimal - sometimes, it was like playing with a doll. Alexander would go where Dominic told him to go, he answered him in one or two-worded sentences, and sometimes, he’d even let Dominic brush out the tangles in his hair, when they got too out of control. Dominic would never admit it, but they were his favorite moments. Once, the boy even fell asleep on him before he finished.

Dr. Djoković might be right about everything, but Dominic refuses to call the time spent caring about a patient and making them feel a bit better _wasted_.

~ ~ ~

The doorbell rings right when Dominic is about to prepare another cup of coffee to get him through the night shift. He frowns. It’s quite late, and it’s raining outside… no sane person would ever come to this place at this hour. So he naturally suspects the police or ambulance bringing in a new patient. He grabs the keys and goes to open the door.

To his surprise, there is no police nor ambulance, just a dark-haired man dressed in expensive clothes. His well polished leather shoes are apparently suffering in the mud, and he’s got an umbrella over his head. He looks impatient, like a businessman having too many meetings a day.

“How can I help you, sir?” Dominic asks.

“I’m Fognini,” the man says. “I have a meeting scheduled…”

The name tells him something… he quickly racks his brain, and then it hits him. Fabio Fognini is the relative that found Alexander, the one that admitted him here after it became clear that he didn’t have all things right in his head.

Dominic frowns. “But the visiting hours…”

“That’s okay, Dominic,” Dr. Djoković’s voice sounds behind his back. “Mr. Fognini is here to see me, not his nephew.”

Dominic frowns again. Maybe not wanting to end up with a broken nose again is reasonable thinking, but even if he’s there to just talk to the doctor, wouldn’t an uncle want to at least see his nephew? From a safe distance maybe?

Fognini makes his way in, shaking the umbrella. Dominic will have to wipe the floor later, or else someone will slip and die.

“Let’s go to my office,” Djoković says. “Dominic, would you mind bringing us some coffee?”

“No problem, doctor,” Dominic says. He has nothing better to do anyway… except wiping the water and mud left after Fognini strolls right inside Djoković’s office.

He quickly checks the ward, but everything is silent. So he pulls out the fancier porcelain coffee set reserved for visitors, who could be outraged by the obnoxious mugs the staff use for their own coffee, and switches on the coffee machine.

Minutes later, he approaches Djoković’s office with a tray. He’s just getting ready to somehow knock, so that they would let him in, when he hears the doctor’s voice, and something tells him to wait.

“His condition is… stable,” Djoković says. “No change. You can be calm.”

Well, if his own family member was still looking like a zombie after a year of treatment, Dominic would not be calm. He’d be furious.

“Good to hear,” Fognini says. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about the donation.”

“I know you are a generous man, Mr. Fognini,” Djoković says in a tone of voice Dominic has never heard him use on the patients, not even on the staff. “The clinic could truly use some new equipment.”

“But you know that it all depends on how… you know what… pans out, right?” Fognini asks.

“You don’t need to worry,” Djoković assures him. “It will go as expected.”

Dominic can’t wait anymore, so he bumps into the door with his elbow, and a few seconds later, Djoković opens the door.

“Oh, thank you,” he says and motions for Dominic to put the tray on the table. “Mr. Fognini is Alexander Zverev’s uncle. I think I’ve mentioned him to you once.”

“I remember,” Dominic mumbles.

“I’m not exactly his uncle… but I guess it’s the closest word,” Fognini says and shakes Dominic’s hand. “You take care of my nephew, then?”

“Sometimes,” Dominic says. “I mean… we have a lot of patients.”

“I hope he’s not causing you trouble,” Fognini says. “Alex can be… difficult, sometimes. Although I’m told the medication is helping.”

Well, that depends on the point of view, Dominic thinks.

He nods curtly. “I’ll be in the nurses’ room,” he says to Djoković. “If you need me.”

The sooner he’s out of there, the better. Otherwise, he fears that he would say something that would get him fired before morning comes.

~ ~ ~

When he comes to collect the dirty cups, Fognini is gone. Djoković rubs his eyes and looks at Dominic.

“I’ll be in the duty doctor’s room, if anything happens,” he says. “I need to stretch my back, and this sofa is damn too small.”

Dominic nods. When Djoković closes the door, he glances at the computer he forgot to switch off. And freezes.

Alexander’s file is on the screen. They must have been discussing it with Fognini previously.

He knows that he’s probably digging his own grave, but he abandons the cups and creeps closer. Something tells him that he’s inches away from solving his little mystery, and he just wishes to dissipate the doubts and finally get it out of his mind.

He skims through the basic information, because it doesn’t contain anything interesting, although it almost punches him in the gut when he realizes the boy is four years younger than him. It lists all the medication as well, which is something Dominic almost knows by heart now.

The diagnosis is just what Djoković had said - depression related to previous trauma, suicidal thoughts with at least one recorded attempt, paranoia, delusions, violent outbursts. Dominic sighs. Something doesn’t add up; if its as clear as it seems, then why does Fognini arrange meetings with Djoković in the middle of the night, discussing donations that depend on _you-know-what_?

Unfortunately, the medical report doesn’t say anything interesting, or at least anything Dominic doesn’t already know. It doesn’t even say anything about the accident. It focuses on the consequences, not the causes.The hospital didn’t care much about what happened before, or how it happened. It was stuff for the media, not doctors.

_The media._

_Moritz._

His brother works in the editorial office of the local newspaper. Accessing information on the accident, and all that followed, should be a piece of cake for him.

Dominic takes his phone and quickly checks if the corridor is empty. Then he dials his brother’s number.

“Moritz, I need help,” he says as soon as Moritz answers the call.

“Yeah, I’d say you do,” Moritz mumbles sleepily into the phone. “Since you started working at that place, I wonder if you shouldn’t actually be admitted in there. Because you do weird things. Like calling me at two in the morning.”

Dominic rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says. “I need you to research something for me.”

“Have you decided to become a doctor instead? Am I supposed to write your dissertation or what?”

“Just shut up and listen to me, will you?” Dominic hisses. “I need you to find out something about a car accident from about a year ago.”

“Like what?” Moritz says.

“Everything you can,” Dominic says. “It involved the Zverev family, you should be able to find something. And also, look up if you can find anything about a certain Fabio Fognini.”

There is silence on the other end of the line. “So you’re a detective now?” Moritz asks then.

“No. I’m just trying to help someone.”

“Okay,” Moritz yawns. “Can it wait until morning, or is that person going to die if I go back to sleep now?”

“I think it can wait,” Dominic says.

“Okay. I’ll get to it in the morning. But I can’t promise anything, okay? I have plenty of work with the article on fishing laws.”

“When you want to tease me about working in a place full of lunatics again, I’ll remind you that you are a star journalist writing about fishing laws,” Dominic says and hangs up.

~ ~ ~

The morning ward round goes as usual. Dominic listens to the duty doctor give Djoković the report on each patient, and then Dominic gives the patients their meds. For some reason, Djoković always oversees the process. Dominic supposes that some of the difficult patients protest less when faced with the authority, but it’s still unusual.

Alexander isn’t difficult when it comes to meds. It’s almost like he’s grateful to go to that distant place they take him. When Dominic hands him the small plastic cup with them, and the cup of water, he swallows them obediently. His hair is a mess again, Dominic notes. It will take at least twenty minutes to detangle. Djoković makes a note in the file, and that’s it for the treatment.

Dominic just returns to the nurses’ room when his phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket.

“Hello?”

“So I found some stuff,” Moritz’ voice says. “If you actually make it home in the near future, I’ll show you.”

“Great,” Dominic says. “I’ll be home at four.”

He feels like passing out, but with the clinic being understaffed, he often has to take double shifts. After the round, he goes to take a quick nap while the other nurse supervises the ward. Then he’s back on his common room watching duty.

The elderly lady is watching the jug with tea, waiting for her moment. The young girl is drawing something with crayons - the only art supply deemed safe here. Alexander is looking out of the window, as always. There is nothing to see there, it leads to the park surrounding the clinic, and the most interesting thing there might be a bird.

Then the girl picks up her sketchbook and crayons, and walks over to the window. Ignoring Alexander completely, she looks out and brings the crayon to the paper, as if she wants to draw the scenery behind the window. But then something happens.

Alexander rips the sketchbook out of her hand, and before Dominic realizes what is going on, tears the page out of it. The girl screams and launches herself at him, and at that point, Dominic and the other nurse are already there, trying to separate them.

The elderly lady chooses right this moment to spill the tea, but nobody cares.

Dominic wraps an arm around Alexander’s torso, holding him back, until he realizes that he’s not fighting him at all, nor was he fighting the girl. It’s her kicking and screaming as the other nurse drags her away. The doctor is there as well at this point, helping him.

“Let’s go, it’s okay,” Dominic says, pushing Alexander towards the door leading to the corridor. “You can’t do that. Why did you do that?”

Alexander doesn’t say anything, but Dominic would swear that something flickers in his eyes, and he knows damn well why he did it.

“Dominic?” Dr. Djoković’s voice sounds from the other end of the corridor. “What happened?”

“It’s fine now, just… he got in an incident with Andrea, the girl from six. He destroyed her drawing and she attacked him.”

Djoković nods thoughtfully. “Okay. I’ll take it from here. Return to the common room, we can’t leave the rest of them unsupervised.”

Something, some inner voice Dominic didn’t knew he had, is screaming at him not to do it. For some reason, he doesn’t want to leave the boy alone with the doctor. _Get a grip_ , he tells himself. _You can’t side with the patients. It’s the senior doctor, he knows what he’s doing._

He returns to the common room and cleans up the spilled tea, to the lady’s amusement. Then he notices the crumpled drawing on the floor. He picks it up and flattens it up against the table. And he almost jumps back.

It’s a drawing of the park, the main entrance. It’s raining in the picture. On the road leading to the main entrance, there is a figure. A dark-haired man dressed in expensive clothes, holding an umbrella.

~ ~ ~

When he gets home, Dominic has a quick shower and drinks a glass of coke, which is just the portion of caffeine he can still have without overdosing. Then he sits on the bed in his brother’s room.

“So?”

Moritz pulls out a whole file. Apparently, fishing laws were really boring.

“So, it was as you said, it happened about a year ago,” he says. “There were a couple articles, all say pretty much the same thing. The car crashed into the barrier on the side of the road, and rolled down a steep slope. The accident happened at night, it was raining, and they found no signs of braking, so they concluded the driver must have fallen asleep. Anyway, the car was completely destroyed. The one person that survived got out with just minor scratches and bruises, and a commotion. Kinda crazy, if you look at this.”

“Yeah,” Dominic nods, looking at the pictures of a pile of metal that once was a silver car. “That person is called Alexander, and he is a patient at our clinic. He tried to kill himself a few weeks after the accident.”

“Sick,” Moritz comments. “Okay, so this is the accident. I’m afraid there’s nothing more to it. I highlighted some facts, like the name of the police guy who was in charge of it, but there’s nothing suspicious or anything, if you’re asking me.”

“What’s with the Fognini guy? Did you find anything? He interests me way more, actually.”

“Oh, the Fognini guy.” Moritz flips through the file full of clippings and printed articles. “You know, if you knew at least how to use Google, you’d find plenty of stuff yourself. So Fabio Fognini is the current CEO of the company that used to belong to the Zverev family. He’s like… a distant relative, but the only relative left, so… He’s also the administrator of the whole inheritance, and apparently… this will interest you…”

“I’m going to throw up after what you’re going to say, right?” Dominic sighs.

“Uh-huh,” Moritz grins and pulls out a stack of printed papers. “So I got a bit into that company’s paperwork and policies… it’s not that hard, they have most of it online, and the rest stored in places that aren’t too secure, so… well, apparently there is a clause in their policies. Technically speaking, Fognini is the CEO, but the shares still belong to your Alexander.”

“It’s not _my_ Alexander.”

“Sure, that’s why we’re doing this right now,” Moritz rolls his eyes. “Well, but - the clause says the person holding the shares should be also the CEO, and the period of time that someone else can hold the position without being the owner of the company is one year. So if that Alexander is not able to take over the company in that time… you guessed it. The shares will go to the current CEO.”

“I’m going to throw up,” Dominic nods.

“Not in my room!” Moritz yells.

“Listen, Fognini was at the clinic yesterday… in the middle of the night, good time for a meeting with the senior doctor, right?” Dominic asks.

“Totally,” Moritz nods. “And?”

“Fognini told him he’d give the clinic a donation, but that it depended on how _you-know-what_ would pan out. Don’t you have an idea of what he could have meant?”

“You-know-what? Voldemort? Philosopher’s stone?” Moritz spreads his arms. “Damn, I’m a beginner journalist, not a detective or a clairvoyant!”

Dominic sighs. “I’m going to bed,” he says. “I’m dead. Thanks anyway.”

In his room, he plops down on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He’s got the facts now. It’s clear as day that it’s very much in Fognini’s interest for Alexander to stay where he is, but his deal with Djoković is still kind of a mystery. Also, Alexander seems to dislike Fognini for a reason, or even fear him, but Dominic doubts that in his state, he’s interested in the shares of the company, or that he even knows anything about the clause and that time is running out. He doesn’t even know what day it is, so… 

Dominic throws himself on his side and closes his eyes. Moritz is right. They are not detectives. He shouldn’t be sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

He wakes up to Moritz shaking him vigorously and yelling at him.

“Wake up, dammit!” he yells. “I got it! I freaking got it! I’m a genius!”

“What?” Dominic blinks sleepily. “You got what? What time is it? Where am I? Is this Earth?”

“ _You-know-what_! I know what _you-know-what_ is!” Moritz says and jumps onto Dominic’s bed excitedly, opening his laptop. “Remember, I told you if Alexander can’t take over the company, the shares will go to Fognini? Well, I thought… someone has to decide if he can or can’t, right? So I did a bit of a research and I called a few people and guess what?”

“What?”

“Apparently, a specialist has to come and assess his mental state. Djoković can write a report, sure, but as I also managed to find out, he doesn’t have the credentials to decide about it. You have to be employed by the court or something.”

Dominic just stares at him. “Damn.”

“Yep. Although I have no idea why Fognini would need to bribe Djoković in that case. As I said, he’s not the one having the final say.”

“Because…” Dominic says, and he feels like he’s now truly going to throw up. “Because maybe, Alexander is not as crazy as they need him to be.”

~ ~ ~

To say that he gets little sleep at night would be an understatement. He gets no sleep at all. The thought is too wild. Getting a vibe is one thing, but… the whole of idea of throwing someone in a mental institution and keeping them there against their will, drugged, to take over a company… is crazy. It only happens in the movies, right?

But the first person to call him out on bullshit would be Moritz, and he’s persuaded that they are right.

If they are right, though, it’s even worse than if they are completely wrong. Because what could Dominic do? Going to Djoković is out of question, since Djoković is on it with Fognini… if they are right, of course. Dominic would get fired in no time if he told him about this theory of his…

There’s still the director of the clinic, but if Dominic presents him a case based on newspaper clippings, research done by his younger brother and a drawing of Fognini made by a patient in crayons, they might as well share the room with Alexander.

He feels like he needs to at least understand the whole deal before telling anyone or doing anything. But he also knows that the only two people who know the whole truth are Fognini and Alexander. Asking Fognini is out of question. Asking Alexander is useless, as long as he’s drugged into oblivion.

He puts another spoonful of sugar in his coffee. He feels like he needs sugar to function, same as the patients need their meds. After all, both are white and make them feel better.

_Oh._

~ ~ ~

He has a night shift this time, which leaves him plenty of time to think about his plan. With Moritz’ help, he finds the house where the Zverev family used to live, but it’s abandoned. He only manages to talk to a neighbor, an elderly lady living next door, but she of course can’t give him any answers, other than “it’s terrible what happened to little Sascha, poor boy”.

He also drives to the headquarters of the company now run by Fognini. One look from the outside tells him that it must be worth all the deception. Moritz found out how much the company was worth, and it gave both of them a vertigo.

When he parks in front of the clinic, he’s already determined to find out the truth, even if it costs him this job. After all, he’s already been fired once, he can take it one more time. There’s always a lack of nurses, so what?

The night is calm, save for the girl screaming once, but when Dominic enters her room, she’s sound asleep again. He profits from the opportunity to go through her drawings, but he finds nothing useful. Just sketches of the park, the staff and other patients. He’s tempted to steal the one of Alexander, but he holds back. He’s a nurse, he can’t steal the patients’ stuff.

When he prepares the patients’ medication, he can’t help but think about what if he’s wrong. Well, if he is, he will probably cause a major disaster, get himself fired, and possibly also sued. That he’s willing to take the risk scares him more than the actual thing.

Dr. Djoković seems to be in a hurry that morning, because the ward round goes quickly. They get to Alexander’s room, which is among the last, in less than twenty minutes. Djoković takes the file from the duty doctor.

“How are you feeling today?” he asks, not lifting his eyes from the paper.

“Good,” Alexander says. It’s the only correct response here, after all. Any other would earn him a place in the other ward, where no one ever wants to get.

“Slept well?”

“Yes.” Another correct response, although Dominic suspects that it’s impossible not to sleep well after the pills he gets in the evening. They’d knock out a horse. The doctors want their peace during the night shifts.

“Fine,” Djoković says and nods to Dominic.

Dominic hands Alexander the cups with pills and water. Djoković oversees the process as usual, and makes a note. Dominic tries to remember if he’s actually seen Alexander get any kind of therapy, other than the tons of chemicals. He remembers once seeing him in the pottery class, but since he just stared ahead of him instead of at least trying to shape the clay, it was pretty useless.

“Dr. Djoković?” Dominic calls when they walk out.

Djoković turns around. “Yes?”

“I wanted to ask if… I wanted to ask if I could change my shift tomorrow. If I could come for the night one today, instead of the afternoon one tomorrow.”

Djoković frowns. “Well, I have no problem with that, if your colleague doesn’t.”

“No, I already discussed it with him,” Dominic says. “Thank you.”

He packs his things and heads home. Leaving his little experiment unsupervised is risky, but he has to do it this way if he wants it to work.

~ ~ ~

When he comes for the night shift, he’s more nervous than on his first day at work. His colleague informs him that they took the elderly lady to hospital after she spilled the tea as usual, and slipped on it. He doesn’t mention anything about Alexander. Which is a relief.

Once he does his round before lights out, distributing the evening meds, he checks that the duty doctor is in his room, reading some book that doesn’t look like anything medicine related, but rather a crime novel. Then he quietly knocks on the door of Alexander’s room and slips inside.

Alexander is sitting on his bed, looking right at the door, like he was expecting him. He definitely looks better. His eyes aren’t glazed over, instead, they look alert, albeit confused and… scared. Also… only now Dominic notices how beautiful they are.

“What was it that you gave me?” Alexander asks straight away. “My meds… what did you give me instead?”

“Sugar and vitamin C,” Dominic says sheepishly. Also his dad’s magnesium supplement, because it looks just like one of the pills, and magnesium has never killed anybody.

“Why?”

“I want to help you,” Dominic says. “I know why you ripped Andrea’s drawing.”

Alexander looks at him like it’s Dominic the mad one. “What?”

“She drew your uncle, because she saw him the night before. Out of the window, probably,” Dominic says. “He was here to see Dr. Djoković. I know he wants the shares in your parents’ company.”

Alexander looks like he couldn’t care less. “When will you give me my meds back?” he asks.

Dominic blinks. “You want… you don’t need them, you don’t need _all_ of them, certainly. Why do you want me to…”

“Because when I have them, I don’t see them, damn you!” Alexander snaps.

“You don’t see…”

_Oh damn. His family. Right._

“Sascha,” Dominic whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

Sascha lifts his eyes to him. “What did you call me?”

“Sascha.”

Now he looks even more confused and scared. “How… what…”

Dominic crouches in front of him. “I know what happened to you, and it’s not your fault.”

“It is,” Sascha whispers and covers his face with his hands. “I was driving, I lost control of the car… the brakes weren’t working, they say I fell asleep, but I didn’t… I didn’t want to kill them, I just couldn’t do anything, I…”

Dominic almost falls on the floor. “You mean… that’s what you meant by it not being an accident?” he asks. 

“Nobody’s ever believed me,” Sascha sniffles. “They said I fell asleep and lost control on the wet surface… but I fucking know what happened, I was there, they weren’t!”

Dominic sighs. “Sascha… I want to help you, but… There will be a specialist assessing your mental health, and we can’t stop your uncle from stealing the company from you if you keep saying things like this!”

“I’m here because I’m crazy, right? That’s what everyone thinks,” Sascha shrugs. “Even you… you feel sorry for me, but you still think that I belong in here.”

“You wanted to kill yourself,” Dominic says softly.

“I did not!” Sascha snaps, then lowers his eyes and looks at the lines on his wrists, and his posture goes somehow slack. “I don’t remember it.”

“That’s normal, I mean… sometimes your view on a previous decision changes and…”

“No, that’s not what I mean!” Sascha says. “I don’t remember doing it. The last thing I remember is that I was sitting in the kitchen with Fabio, drinking tea. I woke up in the hospital. So if I took sleeping pills, climbed into a bathtub and cut my veins, I don’t remember any of it.”

“Wait… wait, wait, wait…” Dominic whispers. “Are you trying to tell me…”

“I can’t prove it,” Sascha says and looks him in the eyes. “But it’s not something I would do. Even if I wanted to kill myself, this is not how I would do it.”

“Okay,” Dominic says and gets up. “Listen, I… I’ll help you. I don’t know how to do it yet, but I’ll figure something out. But until then, nobody can know that you…”

“Are not insane?” Sascha looks at him and for the first time, he smiles. “You know… why would I want anyone to know? Fabio’s tried to kill me twice. Why would I want him to try again?”

Dominic shivers. He’s got a strong feeling that if he screws this up, there will not be only one murder, but two.

~ ~ ~

By the end of the week, he feels like he’s got at least something resembling a plan. It’s very simple, actually. If he manages to keep Sascha off his meds, then when this specialist comes, they will find out Sascha has everything right in his head, and they can destroy Fognini after that.

He’s moving his shifts around as much as he can without the doctors starting to suspect anything. He knows it can’t go like that forever, but since Fognini felt the urge to visit Djoković, he thinks that the specialist’s visit has to happen soon enough. Managing the withdrawal effects is the trickiest part of it all, and maybe the most dangerous one. But Sascha is braver than Dominic had thought, and somehow pushes through all the symptoms Dominic can’t manage. He hides his shaking hands, lies to the doctors about sleeping well although the dark circles under his eyes tell a different story. He only messes up his hair more than usual, but Dominic seems to be the only one paying attention to his hair anyway.

Dominic is just sticking the patients’ files back in the register when he spots the three men walking down the corridor. He knows two of them, Dr. Djoković and Fabio Fognini. The third one is older than the two of them, with a plain face. He kind of looks like a robot, his face showing absolutely no emotions.

“Doctor Lendl is here to look at Alexander,” Djoković says. “If you would make us all a cup of coffee, Dominic… thank you. Doctor, I’ll give you a quick run down…”

Dominic balls his fists as he watches them disappear in Djoković’s office. He wishes he could put arsenic in the coffee.

He still brings them the coffee, trying to act like he doesn’t care in the slightest. But Fognini looks too smug for his liking. _What is he even doing here? Can he actually be here?_

When he returns to the common room, the elderly lady, who’s returned from hospital with a plaster on her leg, is pouring the tea over the floor. Dominic grabs the mop, profiting from the opportunity.

“The specialist is here,” he whispers to Sascha. “So is your uncle, be prepared for that.”

The men enter the room about twenty minutes later. Dominic can see the twitch in Sascha’s face when he sees his uncle.

“Dr. Lendl is here to have a look at you,” Djoković says with a smile. “He’s a court specialist charged with assessing your mental health.”

“In other words,” Fognini says in his usual, lazy tone of voice. “He’s here to listen to your nonsense about me killing your family and trying to kill you, which you created in your head so that you wouldn’t have to acknowledge your own mistakes.”

“You fucking bastard!”

Dominic springs out from the booth when Sascha launches himself at Fognini. “No! Sascha, don’t…”

Before he can say more, Djoković is there, quickly jabbing a needle in Sascha’s arm. _Of course. He was expecting this._

Dominic stumbles back when Sascha’s dead weight falls in his arms. He needs the help of the other nurse to carry him out of the room. When they are at the door, Dominic hears Djoković’s contented voice behind his back.

“Just as I told you, doctor.”

~ ~ ~

After they lay Sascha on the bed, Dominic assures the other nurse that he will manage, but he’s not entirely sure. His plan has just crumbled like a sand castle.

“I fucked up,” Sascha breathes out, and then he starts to laugh. The sedatives are definitely strong.

“No,” Dominic whispers, caressing his hair.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, we can… we can fix this,” he says. “Somehow.”

Sascha laughs again. “You’re so pretty,” he says. “I want to kiss you.”

It’s hard to keep the calm voice when Dominic wants to scream, but he somehow manages. “No, you don’t,” he says. “It’s just the sedatives. You should sleep it off.”

“’S not,” Sascha mumbles. “I really… want to.”

Dominic rolls his eyes, but then he leans over Sascha and kisses him on the forehead. When he looks at him again, Sascha is sound asleep.

The rest of his shift is a blur. Dominic doesn’t even remember his drive home. He functions on auto-pilot, his brain occupied with completely different things than the road and traffic lights. Only when he almost hits the barrier around a hole in the middle of the road, he snaps back and realizes that he could as well end up like Sascha’s family.

That’s when he gets the idea.

He runs inside the house, not even bothering to take his shoes off.

“Moritz!” he shouts. “Where’s the file?”

“What file?” Moritz asks, poking his head out of his room to see what’s going on.

“With the clippings and all, about the accident!”

Moritz rolls his eyes and disappears inside his room. Moments later, he hands Dominic the file. “What are you looking for this time?”

Dominic doesn’t answer, plopping down on Moritz’ bed and flipping through the papers. “Here!” he says then and jabs a finger in one of the clippings. “This guy. Can you find me this guy?”

Moritz frowns. “Really?” he asks. “You want to bring the police into this?”

“The police should have been on this a long time ago,” Dominic says. “So, can you find if he’s still working there, or…”

“Like right now?” Moritz asks.

“A minute ago was too late, just get on with it!” Dominic snaps.

~ ~ ~

About two hours later, he is sitting in the office of Senior inspector Federer, who’s moved up a rank since the time the article was written.

“Yes, I remember it,” he says when Dominic shows him the clipping. “The boy lost control of the vehicle. Microsleep, probably. And the road was wet, so…”

“What if it was something else?” Dominic asks.

Federer frowns. “What else? He didn’t even hit the brakes!”

“He says the brakes didn’t work.”

“Nonsense,” Federer shakes his head, but makes a few clicks on his computer. “Our technicians would…”

Dominic sees the moment when he hesitates in his face, and he knows that it’s his first small win.

“Okay,” Federer says slowly. “It’s actually written in here that the tests were inconclusive due to the damage of the vehicle.”

“That’s just one thing,” Dominic says. “A few weeks later, his uncle tried to kill him, and staged it as a suicide attempt.”

Federer glances at him from the computer. He looks like a reasonable person to Dominic… but maybe too reasonable and sensible for this case.

“You said you worked where?” he asks.

“Clinic of mental health,” Dominic says. “Listen, I know how it sounds, but trust me. It all adds up. If Sascha can’t take over the leading position in the company, all the shares will go to his uncle and…”

“Hold on, hold on,” Federer says. “You are telling me that the boy didn’t actually try to kill himself?”

“No!” Dominic screams in frustration. “His uncle drugged him and tried to make it look as if he cut his wrists, I’m telling you!”

“To get the shares in the company. I suppose according to you, he was also behind the accident.”

“Yes. And he’s got a deal with the senior doctor at the clinic, he promised him a donation in exchange for keeping Sascha at the clinic.”

Federer pinches the bridge of his nose. Dominic feels his heart beating madly in his chest. When he says it out loud, it sounds even crazier.

“Let’s make it clear… according to you, and basically according to the boy who is - at least officially - completely out of his mind, Fabio Fognini killed the entire family by damaging the car’s brakes, and then he drugged the boy, cut his wrists and called the ambulance later, to make it look like a suicide attempt. Because the boy didn’t die, he claimed that he was insane, and admitted him to a mental institution, where he bribed the senior doctor to make sure he would stay there, while Fognini would rule the company and eventually get the shares. This is what your are telling me?”

Dominic nods.

Federer pushes his chair away from the table. “For the love of God!”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Dominic says. “But it’s true. If you opened the case again…”

“Problem is, I can’t reopen the case,” Federer says. “The prosecutor would have to do it. He’d have to have a reason for it.”

“Are there not enough reasons?”

“Look, if this boy was completely sane and told him what you’ve been telling me here, then maybe…

“But he _is_ completely sane,” Dominic says. “If it wasn’t for all the meds Djoković has been poisoning him with…”

“But that’s the problem,” Federer says. “I suppose you can’t ensure he will be completely clean and mentally stable when the prosecutor chooses to talk to him.”

Dominic sighs. Same story again. He’s getting tired of this. Playing by the rules, only to lose to cheaters. He takes a deep breath.

“What if I can?” he asks.

Federer gives him a suspecting glance. “I’m trying to figure out if you should even tell me the way you want to ensure this.”

“Probably not,” Dominic mumbles.

Federer sighs and looks at him again. Dominic figures that he has to look really desperate, because Federer almost looks like he’s sorry for him. “I can promise you one thing,” he says. “I’ll talk to the prosecutor, and ask him to reopen the case. And I will go through the case once more to see if there’s something we might have overlooked.”

Dominic can’t believe his ears. “You’ll help us?”

Federer sighs. “Look, I… maybe I didn’t do all I could do the first time. I want to make sure that I didn’t destroy someone’s life. But as I said, if he’s not a reliable witness, then…”

Dominic nods. “I’ll take care of that.” _And probably end in prison, but I don’t care anymore._

When he closes the door, he can hear Federer yelling into the phone: “Stan, are you a bunch of useless pricks down there, what do _inconclusive tests_ even mean?”

~ ~ ~

Sascha looks at Dominic confusedly when he shakes him awake. The sedatives haven’t worn off completely, Dominic can see it in his movements, which are unnaturally slow.

“Sascha,” he whispers. “Get up.”

Sascha looks around and frowns. It’s dark outside and the ward is quiet. Which is not good, because if there’s nothing happening, the nurse on the night shift is most likely in the nurses’ room, reading or being on his phone, and they won’t be able to get out without being seen. Dominic wasn’t even able to get inside unnoticed, and had to lie about looking for his keys.

_Well, they’ll deal with that later._

He tries to pull a sweatshirt over Sascha’s head, but because he’s so nervous and Sascha is still half asleep, it’s a struggle. Sascha emerges from the bundle of fabric long seconds later, face flushed and hair completely messy.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Getting you out of here,” Dominic says. _And also getting myself fired, and possibly arrested._

Sascha just laughs.

“Can you walk?” Dominic asks.

“No,” Sascha mumbles. “Because I don’t have my shoes.”

Dominic curses under his breath and looks around the room, thinking about how long he can possibly be looking for his keys without it being suspicious. He locates Sascha’s shoes and proceeds to put them on.

“I don’t know how we’re going to get out,” he sighs. “We’d need to get rid of the nurse…”

“Kill him,” Sascha mutters.

“What? No, I meant distracting him!”

“Just kidding,” Sascha says. “Scratch on Andrea’s door. She’ll start screaming.”

Dominic looks at him in disbelief. “Really?”

“She hates it. She thinks it’s werewolves.”

Dominic gives up. After all, they are not in a place where logic works, usually.

He slips out of the room carefully, and tiptoes to Andrea’s room. Then he runs his nails down the wood. When nothing happens, he tries again, louder, trying to imitate the sounds his dog makes when trying to get inside his room.

Andrea starts screaming.

Dominic hides behind the corner when the nurse and the duty doctor run inside. Then he rushes back to Sascha’s room.

_When one has the keys, it’s not that hard to get out,_ Dominic thinks. Sure, getting in is still easier, but they make it to his car without anyone chasing them just yet. Dominic starts the car and drives out, letting out a sight of relief.

Sascha is watching him curiously from the passenger seat. “Are you kidnapping me or what?”

“Something like that,” Dominic sighs.

“Good, I’m down,” Sascha grins. “Can I sleep through it, though?”

“Yeah.”

Sascha grins again and closes his eyes. Dominic sighs. _They are so fucked._

“Are you armed?” Sascha asks.

Dominic rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

~ ~ ~

The sun is rising when Dominic stops at a gas station. He desperately needs coffee.

If everything’s going as planned, they are yet to find out Sascha is missing. If they already know… they’re fucked.

He orders a big coffee, and some fruit tea for Sascha, because he figures that his blood system is a mess already, no need to add caffeine. He buys some of the freshly baked pastries, and then makes a call to Federer.

He of course gets yelled at by the Inspector, but he expected nothing else. He’s pretty reconciled with the idea of going to jail at this point.

He hands the tea and pastry to Sascha and gets back on the road.

“Where are we going?” Sascha asks. With the meds slowly getting out of his system, he looks way more anxious. The fact that they are in a car doesn’t help anything.

“To my family’s cottage,” Dominic says. “We need to make sure that you’re not drugged into oblivion when the prosecutor wants to talk to you.”

“The prosecutor?”

“Yeah. We need him to reopen your case, and hopefully prove what Fabio’s done to you.”

Sascha nods and sips on his tea. Then he devours the entire bag of pastries, picking up the crumbs when he thinks Dominic isn’t looking. Well, it’s definitely better than the food at the clinic.

“I’m sorry,” Dominic says then. “If there was another way, I’d do it. But like this, it’s going to be quite nasty. I mean… going cold turkey after all they’ve been giving you. You’re going to feel awful.”

If he wasn’t purposefully lowering the doses in the past few weeks, he wouldn’t do this. It would have been too risky. Like this, he’s quite sure Sascha won’t die, but it won’t be pretty nonetheless.

“That’s okay,” Sascha whispers. “Better than not being able to remember your own name.”

Dominic nods. He takes the turn that will take them to the cottage. It’s the most remote place he could think of. He doesn’t think that they can hide there for a long time, but he doesn’t even plan it. They just need a bit of time. Then he’ll take them back and go to the police, and it’s all going to be fine.

_Or maybe not._

By the time he gets out of the car, he has ten missed calls from Djoković.

He turns on the heating inside, and hides the car in the garage. When he comes back, Sascha is asleep on the sofa. Dominic himself feels like he could use some sleep.

His phone vibrates again. This time, it’s not Djoković. It’s Federer. After a moment of hesitation, Dominic answers the call.

“Just wanted to inform you that they’re looking for you,” Federer says. He sounds exasperated.

“Yeah, I figured.”

“With a helicopter,” Federer adds. “You better tell me where you are, or this is going to be an even bigger mess.”

“I’m sorry,” Dominic sighs. “But we need a bit more time.”

“Damn you, why are you doing this the most difficult way, I…” Federer swears, but Dominic switches off the phone at this point. And takes out the SIM card. At least he thinks that they can’t track him that way. He saw it in a movie, so…

He sits in the armchair and closes his eyes.

He wakes up to Sascha crying and talking to something invisible. He jumps up and crouches in front of the sofa, ready to shake Sascha awake, when he realizes that Sascha is not actually sleeping. He is staring at one spot on the wall, completely terrified.

“Sasch,” Dominic whispers.

“Tell me it’s not real,” Sascha whispers.

“It’s not real, Sascha,” Dominic says, guessing who Sascha sees in the dark. “They aren’t here. It’s just the two of us.”

“Come here,” Sascha says. “Just hold me.”

The sofa is way too small for the two of them, and Dominic fears that he will fall off if he moves, but Sascha just presses his body against him and drapes Dominic’s arm around himself. A few moments later, his breathing gets regular again.

Dominic sighs and closes his eyes as well.

~ ~ ~

They wake up to brakes screeching on the gravel outside. Dominic jumps up and drags Sascha to the door.

Too late.

When they run out on the porch, they stand face to face with Fabio Fognini.

“You’ve always been a difficult child, Alex,” Fognini sighs and pulls out a gun.

Dominic feels his heart beating in his throat. Sascha makes a step to the side to shield him.

“I’m sorry for not dying when you wanted me to,” he says.

Fognini chuckles. “I don’t know how the hell you survived the car crash. A miracle, probably. And I reckon the second time was my mistake. I called the ambulance way too soon. It was messier than I thought it would be, and I misjudged the situation. I thought it would be more believable that way… my wrong. I should have sat there and watched you bleed out.”

Dominic wants to throw up.

“Never mind,” Fognini says and releases the safety catch. Sascha grabs Dominic’s hand. “I can do it now.”

“I think the fuck not,” a voice says behind his back. “Throw the gun on the ground and raise your hands, or you’ll go to hell sooner.”

Fognini freezes. Then he drops the gun and puts his hands up, laughing. Desperately, hysterically, _madly_.

“You have the right to stay silent,” Federer says, putting his gun back in the holster while his partner is arresting the Italian. “After all, we’ve already heard enough.”

Sascha falls in Dominic’s arms, trembling.

“How did you find us?” Dominic asks Federer, patting Sascha on the back comfortingly.

“Thiem,” Federer sighs. “We are the police.”

“Oh, the helicopter,” Dominic says.

“Actually, no, the helicopter was quite useless,” Federer says. “We asked your brother.”

Now Dominic feels really dumb. And kind of betrayed, too, although Moritz probably was the one thinking straight.

“Let’s go,” Federer says. “We’ll take your friend to the hospital, to have a _normal_ doctor have a look at him.”

Dominic nods defeatedly. Someone taking control is so relieving that he wants to cry.

“I want to kiss you,” Sascha says when they sit in the back seat of the Inspector’s car. “And it’s not the sedatives.”

“Hell, you remember it?” Dominic laughs.

Sascha nods and leans closer to him.

“Sascha, not…” Dominic starts, but Sascha is already kissing him, completely ignoring the Inspector, who is avoiding looking in the rear-view mirror.


End file.
